The little Child.

I’m a very little child,

Only just have learn’d to speak;

So I should be very mild,

Very tractable and meek.

If my dear mamma were gone,

I should perish soon, and die,

When she left me all alone,

Such a little thing as I!

Oh, what service can I do,

To repay her for her care;

For I cannot even sew,

Nor make any thing I wear.

Oh then, I will always try

To be very good and mild;

Never now be cross and cry,

Like a little fretful child.

For I often cry and fret,

And my dear mamma I tease;

Often vex her, while I sit

Dandled pretty on her knees.

Oh, how can I serve her so,

Such a good mamma as this!

Round her neck my arms I’ll throw,

And her gentle cheek I’ll kiss.

Then I’ll tell her, that I will

Try not any more to fret her;

And as I grow older still,

I hope that I shall serve her better.